


Our Time In Eden

by edenbound



Series: If We Wake To Discover [Crowley and Aziraphale raise Adam] [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Crowley, Other, non-binary Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 17:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20012017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: It's summer, glorious summer, and Adam can't spend every day helping Aziraphale in the bookshop. Right?Set during the latter parts of 'If We Wake To Discover'. All you need to know is that Crowley and Aziraphale raise Adam, though.





	Our Time In Eden

**Author's Note:**

> There is no overt sexuality in this story. Crowley is genderfluid/non-binary, and their pronouns change throughout. There is no conflict related to their gender; as in canon, it just is.
> 
> Title from 'Eden' by 10,000 Maniacs, again. There will probably be other little companion bits in this universe, in no particular order. The narrator is probably not the same as the first story, or not addressed to the same reader/listener, at least.

The other end of the shop has gone suspiciously quiet. Aziraphale puts down the book he's been looking at, because silence from Adam is usually a sign of mischief, and pops his head around the corner. Adam is spread full length across the floor on his belly, chin popped up on his hands, one careless foot behind him hooked up on a shelf, and he's reading a stack of magazines Aziraphale could've sworn didn't exist before.

"It's National Geographic, angel, it's fine," Crowley says, from somewhere behind him, and Aziraphale doesn't quite jump out of his skin, but it's a close thing. "I thought he could use a break."

Aziraphale frowns. "I thought you were going for a walk."

Crowley shrugs, finding a chair and turning it round as they drop into it, so they're straddling it with their chest against the back. "I did. That's why there's a box of fresh pastries on your chair."

It strikes Aziraphale, and not for the first time, that he's really been taking Crowley and their kindness for granted. They still won't hear the word _thank you_ too often, so Aziraphale settles for stooping and pressing a kiss to their forehead as he makes a beeline for the pastries. He tries not to blush when Crowley grabs his hand and presses a kiss to the back before letting him go -- one of those stupid little gestures that completely undoes him, damn the demon. He fumbles with the lid of the box of pastries, clearing his throat. "Adam, do you want one of these?"

"Wha?"

"I brought home some pastries," Crowley explains, nudging Adam's leg with a foot. "Pay you for all that shelving."

Adam scrambles up. "Any with chocolate?"

"Do I ever forget to bring the ones with chocolate? You'll need to fight your dad for it, though.[1] Paper plates under the box, angel, and serviettes as well. Stop fussing."

Adam quickly possesses himself of a pastry and, at Aziraphale's glare, a paper plate and serviette, and then plonks himself back on the floor, this time leaning against Crowley's leg. "Did you know that in April all the sea lions in the world swim from California to the Channel Islands? And they don't even have maps!"

"I don't think it's all of them," Aziraphale starts, but Crowley rolls their eyes, reaching down to tease some of the tangles of Adam's hair apart.

"Is that right?"

Adam looks up at them hopefully. "I wanna go see sometime."

"Well, I wasn't thinking of going to the Channel Islands this time, and it's the wrong time of year for the sea lions, but I was thinking..." Crowley hesitates, glancing at Aziraphale, "if your dad doesn't mind, anyway, we could go -- well, I found a little cottage to rent on the South Downs, not too far from a couple of very nice beaches, and I thought -- "

"It's a wonderful idea," Aziraphale says, immediately, before Crowley can start downselling it. It's really too bad how Crowley doubts themself and their ideas, when they really are so consistently perfect. Light is dawning across Adam's face.

"We're going on a summer holiday! Wicked!"

* * *

Crowley is waiting in the car. He's been waiting in the car for twenty minutes, and he's fully expecting to wait twenty more, because Aziraphale is in an agony of indecision about cramming a few more books into the car boot, and Adam is "helping". Crowley is not usually the most patient sort of person, but there's a small fond smile on his face even as he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, or self-consciously riffles his fingers through his newly-short hair.[2]

Adam bursts out of the shop -- there's no other word for it: Adam bursts everywhere, a constant detonation of noise and movement and enthusiasm -- and piles into the front seat. Crowley clicks his tongue. "Isn't that your dad's seat?"

"Ugh, _Dad_ , I want a turn."

"If your dad sits in the back, who's going to guard our lunch?"

As expected, Adam scrambles to get into the back, though Crowley is not sure that _actually_ does much to protect his prospects of getting lunch, because it sounds suspiciously like Adam is already poking through the bag. That's alright, though. Crowley himself usually only partakes to keep the other two company, since he doesn't need food like Adam or appreciate it like Aziraphale. His smile is terribly fond as he watches Aziraphale emerging from their house, with a stack of extra books in his arms. [3]

* * *

"I thought it was only a two hour drive," Aziraphale murmurs. Adam is asleep in the back after being heartily sick all over his shoes somewhere around Guildford.

"Yes, well, tell that to this traffic," Crowley snaps. Aziraphale watches him for a moment and then reaches out, running his fingers up the back of Crowley's neck and then up through his hair, against the grain.

"Dearest, let's not get irritable with each other. This is still going to be a wonderful holiday, a wonderful idea."

Crowley shivers a little, and some of the tension drops out of his shoulders, even if his mouth remains a hard flat line. "It's going to take a miracle for us to get there before dark."

"Well," Aziraphale says, smiling. "Perhaps something miraculous can be arranged."

* * *

"Daaaad, are you two ever getting up?"

Aziraphale peels an eyelid open. He doesn't always sleep, but he's found some contentment in doing so, especially now he sleeps beside Crowley. The demon is wound around him, their eyes firmly closed, their possessive arm around his waist. Aziraphale keeps his voice low. "I think they're tired from the drive," he says, and pats the spot next to him on the bed. "Why don't you come and get in with us for a bit?"

Adam is nine years old, old enough that he hesitates about this. But it _is_ a holiday.

"Lemme get my comic," he says, gone and back again in a flash. Aziraphale lifts the covers to let him in, and winces at the feeling of feet ice-cold from the cottage's stone floors unerringly somehow finding skin.

"Pass me my book, Adam?" he asks, and Adam does, tucking himself up against Aziraphale's side and falling into absorbed study of the brightly coloured pages of his comic. Crowley sleeps on without even a murmur, their body relaxed and sinuous and beautiful.

* * *

Their third night in the cottage, with Adam tucked into bed in genuine exhaustion, Aziraphale puts his book down firmly and goes over to Crowley, leaning over the back of his chair to put his arms around him, hook his chin over Crowley's bony shoulder. He doesn't say anything. Sometimes there's just nothing to say, after 6,000 years of knowing one another, nine years of raising Adam together, one year of being _together_. It feels like a moment stolen from time, a moment that shouldn't be theirs, and Aziraphale lets it have its full weight, just the two of them in silence and ease.

"I have something for you," he says, after a while. Crowley stirs, tugging at him so he lets go of the embrace and comes round where Crowley can see him.

"What is it?"

Aziraphale has thought about this for a while, has thought about traditions and about what Crowley might prefer. About what might be possible for Crowley. About what _he_ wants, because there has to be space for that as well. He drops to one knee in front of Crowley. "Crowley, I wanted to ask you -- "

"Angel, you -- "

"I wanted to ask you to marry me," Aziraphale says, firmly, quite prepared to put a hand over Crowley's protesting mouth if necessary. It proves unnecessary: Crowley is struck dumb as Aziraphale presents the ring box, snaps it open to show the two matching rings waiting inside. "I know we can't do it the traditional way, and half the human vows don't apply, but I want to be yours and for you to be mine. I want to be your husband, your dearest, your only."

"You are," Crowley breathes, cupping Aziraphale's cheek. His thumb strokes across Aziraphale's cheekbone. His hand is trembling. "You are and you will be. Forever, angel. We'll make our own kind of marriage. Yes. The answer's yes."

* * *

"Mum! Aren't you coming in the sea with me?"

Crowley raises a lazy hand and waves Adam off, settling her head back into Aziraphale's lap. "You go ahead. Paddling _only_ , Adam."

"He's not going to listen to you, you know," Aziraphale murmurs, from behind a book. His hand is in Crowley's hair, messing with the short strands, feeling it curl the slightest bit about his fingers. She'll be mad when she gets up and realises she looks like a hedgehog, but that's alright. That's fine.

"I know," Crowley sighs, stretching out her long limbs in the sun, nestling into the warm sand, "that's why there's miraculously no currents today, except for the mysterious wave that will sweep him back in towards shore if he goes too far. Let him have his independence, though. Don't tell him."

"You're so good to us."

"Pft."

[1] They are both "Dad", unless Crowley is presenting as female, in which case in public Adam usually switches to "Mum". It confuses everyone else, but never the three of them.

[2] Aziraphale was only a little bit disappointed, because he does enjoy the way it exposes the back of Crowley's neck constantly, a spot which, if kissed, produces very interesting noises from the demon. Provided that it is Aziraphale doing the kissing, of course. Also, there are significantly fewer hairpins for Crowley to a) lose all over the shop, and b) accidentally stab Aziraphale with.

[3] Not the shop or Crowley's flat, but a semi-detached family house which should be ample room for a boy, a book-hoarding angel and an accomodating demon. It sometimes is, if Aziraphale has recently tidied and Adam is asleep.


End file.
